Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  Noah picked up the lantern and set it beside the chart spread across his desk. Using his divider, protractor, gunner’s scale, and Mr. Grainger’s best weather prediction, Noah had plotted their fastest route to South Hampton. With clear skies and God’s good favor, they’d make port in four weeks. After they reached South Hampton and off-loaded their cargo, Noah had arranged to transport silks and fine china to Nevis in the Caribbean, where he expected the wealthy colonists would pay handsomely for the extravagances lacking in the new world. Then at Nevis, he would fill his hold with coffee and sugar to sell in Baltimore. All in all, he hoped to make a year’s wages with this one voyage.

  Perhaps then his father would see him as a more-than-qualified merchantman. Perhaps then, that gleam of approval Noah longed to see would appear in his father’s eyes. Dare he even hope for an added spark of forgiveness? Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Noah withdrew a handkerchief—his brother’s handkerchief. He unfolded it and laid it across the palm of his hand giving it the reverence of a holy object. To him, it was holy. He traced the deep maroon stains that marred its center and then fingered the lace at the edges. His eyes grew moist. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” He stared at it for a moment then gently folded it into a tiny square and slipped it back inside his waistcoat.

  Clearing his throat, he forced back all emotion then laid down the scale and walked to a cabinet built into the bulkhead. Opening the door, he grabbed a bottle of port and poured himself a glass, then wove around his desk and gazed out the stern window. A half moon lingered over the horizon. The ebony sea seemed to be reaching up toward it, trying to grab hold of some of its crystalline light for itself.

  Noah released a sigh. Everything was going well, everything save one tiny detail.

  Rap rap rap.

  “Enter.” Noah expected Luke with the watch report, but instead of the thud of heavy boots, the swish of silk sounded. He spun around.

  “Thank you, Mr. Boone.” Miss Denton nodded toward the purser as the sailor’s eyes met Noah’s uncomfortably before he scrambled down the corridor.

  “Such a narrow hallway.” She gestured behind her. “How do you endure such cramped quarters?”

  “The hallway is called a companionway, Miss Denton.”

  She nodded and swept the cabin with her gaze. “So this is where your chamber is located.” She approached Noah’s desk, leaving the door ajar.

  “My cabin, yes.”

  “Ah yes, I knew that.” A dark red stain marred the white bandage swaddling her head, marking the position of her wound. Brown curls dangled on top of the cloth and crawled from beneath it as if they refused to be restrained. The ship bucked. Her eyes widened as she flung out her arms to keep her balance. Curves rounded the folds of her silk gown that glistened in the candlelight.

  Shaking off a sudden wave of heat, Noah averted his gaze. “I believe I told you to rest.” He circled his desk, fighting back his annoyance at her presence, and poured himself a glass of port.

  “I did.” She glanced across his cabin again, only this time her eyes seemed to soak in every detail before they returned to him. “All day, as a matter of fact, Mr. Brenin.”

  “I am called Captain aboard my ship, Miss Denton.”

  “Very well, I will call you whatever you want as long as you return me to Baltimore as soon as possible.” The lift of her chin and smug look on her face brought him back fifteen years to a time when she was naught but a spoiled girl flaunting her wealth before a poor merchant’s son.

  “You are in no position to order me about any longer, Miss Denton … or should I say princess?” Noah grinned and sipped his port. The sweet wine slid down his throat, warming him.

  Her eyes narrowed for an instant, but then she waved her hand through the air. “You may call me princess if you wish, waif.”

  The word struck him with the same shameful twinge it had when he was a boy.

  Her golden-brown eyes snapped his way. “You did naught but tease me as a child.”

  “And you did naught but belittle me.” Noah leaned back on the top of his desk and crossed his boots at the angle.

  She bit her lip and began twisting a ring on her right hand.

  The look of fear on her face softened the bitter memories of their youth, and Noah released a sigh. “Perhaps we should set aside our childish ways.”

  “Would that you had decided to do so before you abandoned me in Baltimore.” Her sharp tone stabbed him.

  “I had no choice. Business before pleasure, you know.”

  “Pleasure, humph.” Marianne leveled a stern gaze upon him. “You looked as if you’d prefer the town stockade to attending your own engagement party.”

  Noah finished his port and set the glass down. How could he deny it?

  A shadow passed over her face, and she looked away. Noah groaned inwardly. He did not wish to hurt her. In fact, it took all his strength to stop from explaining his boorish behavior. Yet perhaps his reasons would hurt her even more. No, the idea to break off the engagement must be hers and hers alone—to spare her reputation, and perhaps her heart.

  But what to do with her now? The thought of being forced to endure her company for months made his stomach curdle. Yet perhaps he could use this time to his advantage. Noah ran a hand over the back of his neck and watched her as she struggled to maintain eye contact with him, despite the trembling in her bottom lip. Yes, he would have plenty of time to convince her that he was the obnoxious cad she believed him to be and that life with him would be unbearable.

  “Your silence confirms my suspicions.” She pressed a hand over her throat and sank into one of his high-backed chairs. “Let us be honest with each other, Noah.” She sighed. “You have no intention of marrying me, do you?”

  Marianne awaited his answer, but instead he smiled. “You always were rather forthright, Miss Denton.”

  “While you were never so.” She glanced across the cabin again, a much larger room than she would have expected. Yet everything within it—from the three high-backed Chippendale chairs circling a mahogany desk, to the oversized chest with a heavy iron lock, to the fitted racks that held volumes of books and brass trinkets, and finally to the two swords, a pistol, an hourglass, a map, and various instruments that lined his desk—everything was masculine, and well ordered, just like its master.

  Her stomach knotted. He had not answered her question. Yet, how could she force this man to marry her when the very thought of it made her own skin crawl?

  “I have every intention of following through with my obligation, miss.” He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his blue eyes to the massive trunk perched by an archway that led to his sleeping chamber. A breeze blew in from the open door, feathering the hair that touched his collar. The muscles in his jaw twitched, but he would not look at her.

  He was lying. She knew it. “Is that what I am, an obligation? How romantic.”

  He chuckled. “If you want romance, I suggest you search for it somewhere else—in one of those tawdry novels coming out of London, perhaps?” He quirked a dark eyebrow so at odds with his light brown hair. Then grew serious. “While we are being honest, Miss Denton, you know as well as I that it is your dowry that has drawn us together.”

  Of course she knew that. Then why did his admission cause her heart to ache? Perhaps because it crushed her childhood dreams of someday finding love and romance in the arms of an admirable man. A man nothing like the one standing before her. But then again, why would she expect anything extraordinary to happen to someone ordinary like her? She folded her hands in her lap. “Have no care, Captain. I do not flatter myself to think otherwise. But your desperation must be exceedingly great to force your agreement to such an undesirable match.”

  Noah adjusted the cuffs of his white shirt then cocked his head toward her. “What has me quite vexed, Miss Denton, is what benefit this match is for you. It is obvious you loathe me.”

  “Loathe is a strong word.” She batted the air, trying to avoid the question. The smell
of wine and leather and aged wood filled her nose. She couldn’t very well tell Noah that she and her mother were nearly destitute, that without this marriage, they could not touch the inheritance her father left her and purchase the much-needed medicines to keep her mother alive. She wasn’t lying to him. He would receive the seven thousand dollars of her dowry the moment they married. But what he didn’t know was that he would receive nothing else, no jewelry, or silverware, satin sheets, china, Persian rugs, or any of the luxuries her mother had been forced to sell this past year. Instead he would acquire only Marianne, her sister, and a sick mother-in-law. So, Marianne simply responded, “Our fathers wished it.”

  He eyed her curiously. “Your father would not wish you unhappy, miss. I assure you I will not make you a good husband.”

  Marianne gripped the arm of the chair. Her throat went dry. “Why are you trying to dissuade me when you have admitted that you need my money?”

  He shrugged and stared out the open door down the corridor. “I see how my presence upsets you. It would no doubt be pure torture for you should we marry.”

  “What upsets me is your behavior.”

  “Unfortunately the two cannot be separated.”

  “That is not true. People can change if they want to. God can change people.”

  “What has He to do with it?”

  Marianne flinched. “God has everything to do with everything.”

  “If that is so, then He has much to answer for.” He frowned and turned to stare out the stern windows.

  “You should not say such things, Noah.” Marianne’s heart saddened. His family had faced tragedy, as had hers. But she had not forsaken God. Or had she? Certainly her trust in Him had waned.

  She struggled to her feet. “Enough of this. I cannot sail to England with you. My mother is ill and needs my help.”

  He faced her. “She has servants who will attend to her, I am sure.”

  In truth, no. “Only I can see to her properly. And my little sister will be lost without me. I simply cannot be gone for months.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have snuck aboard my ship.”

  She stomped her foot, the hard wood sending a dull ache through her silk slippers. “Then you shouldn’t have run away from me.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and the features of his face grew tight. She wondered if he still had the same nasty temper he had as a boy. “Confound it all, I stand to make a great deal of money on this voyage, Miss Denton. Perhaps even more than your dowry is worth.”

  More than her dowry? Then he wouldn’t need her. Fear clogged in Marianne’s throat. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

  “But time is of the essence,” he continued, “And I cannot waste two days returning you home. I’m afraid you are here for the duration of the voyage. There is nothing I can do about it.”

  The ship pitched, and Marianne shifted her feet to catch her balance. A salt-laden breeze swirled about the room. The candle flickered, and a chill slid down her back. The mad dash of water against the hull mocked her as fear for her mother battled for preeminence against fear of the sea.

  “You don’t understand. I cannot be aboard this ship.” Tears burned behind her eyes, but she would not disclose her fears and provide him with more ammunition with which to badger her.

  “But the fact is you are, miss. By your own accord, I might add. And as such, you will be my guest until we return home. Though nothing like the elegance you are accustomed to, I assure you the ship will be quite comfortable.”

  Marianne felt the blood drain from her face as dizziness threatened to spin her vision. She grabbed the chair for support and closed her eyes.

  Noah’s boots thumped across the planks. He took both her hands in his. “You have not yet recovered from your wound, Miss Denton. I’ll show you to your cabin.”

  The gentle way he caressed her fingers sent unwanted warmth through her. She opened her eyes.

  “What have we here?” He flipped over her hands. Red, crusty calluses stared up at them both. Marianne snatched her hands from his.

  “It is nothing. It must have happened when the crate struck me.” She took a step back.

  He narrowed his blue eyes upon her.

  “Very well, Noah.” She conceded to allay his suspicion. “Perhaps I do need some rest. You may show me to my room.”

  He stiffened at her condescending tone, but it couldn’t be helped. It was the only way for her to recover from what he had seen on her hands. If he knew she worked as a common servant in her own house, he would no doubt call the wedding off.

  Grabbing a lantern from his desk, he gestured toward the door and gave a mock bow. “This way, miss.”

  Lifting her nose in the air, Marianne followed him down the narrow hallway, lit by intermittent lanterns to another door not far from the captain’s. He opened it to a space no bigger than a closet. A box-framed bed attached to the wall filled most of the room, save for a tiny shelf for belongings. A foul, moldy smell swamped over her.

  But Marianne didn’t care. She’d grown accustomed to sleeping in a chair by her mother’s bedside, so truth be told, the stuffed tick on the bed appeared more than inviting.

  After placing the lantern on the shelf, Noah leaned on the doorframe and watched her as she eased past him, brushing his arm. “Thank you, Noah.”

  His eyes widened and he studied her as if she’d said the sea was made of blue pudding.

  She pressed down the folds of her gown and shook her head. “What I meant to say was, I suppose it will have to do.”

  “Yes, it will. Sleep well, Miss Denton.” He gave her a sly wink before shutting the door. His boot steps pounded his exit down the hallway.

  Marianne sank onto the knotty mattress. She didn’t intend to sleep. She had planning to do. Noah must not have any reason to break off their engagement. Her mother’s life depended on it. Therefore, she must discover a way to do one of two things: Either make Noah fall madly in love with her or stop him from making his fortune by sabotaging his ship. The former made her sick to her stomach.

  The latter brought a smile to her lips.

  CHAPTER 5

  I nhaling a deep breath, Marianne trudged up the ladder that led to the main deck. The sound of her stomach gurgling rose even above the crash of waves against the hull. She had hoped to remain below today where she could more easily forget she was in the middle of the ocean. Besides, she had to plan the best way to sabotage the ship, and she wanted to investigate the lower decks. But the biscuit and jam she’d eaten for breakfast were not cooperating. In fact, they rebelled quite vehemently. She poked her head above deck, and a gust of wind tore at the hair she’d managed to pin up in a loose bun despite the bandage wrapped around her head.

  Pressing down her skirts to keep them from flying up, Marianne took the final step above. Fear threatened to send her below. She tried to calm her rapid breathing, afraid the heaving of her chest might tear the gown Agnes had lent her—a garment that had obviously belonged to a much thinner woman than Marianne.

  Face forward, she inched her trembling feet to the mainmast, grabbed the rough wood, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the ferocious beating of her heart. Sounds of footsteps, shouts, the gurgle of water, and creak of wood assailed her ears. Hot rays from a sun sitting high in the blue sky scorched her tender skin.

  Lord, I need Your help. I need Your strength. Please grant me Your peace and help me find a way to get back home to my mother. The ship canted, and she planted her feet slightly apart to brace herself, realizing how unfamiliar prayer had become to her. Please watch over her and Lizzie in my absence. And please help me find a way to ensure Noah marries me. The remains of her biscuit rose in her throat. She swallowed them down. Or if there’s another way to save my mother and Lizzie without marrying that beef-witted clod … She hesitated beneath a spark of guilt. Forgive me, Lord. The ship pitched and a salty spray showered over her. One more thing, Lord. If You don’t mind, please keep this ship afloat. Amen.

>   She should have felt better—more at peace—like she used to feel after praying, but instead all she felt was the ever-present anxiety that had plagued her since her father died and dragged the entire family fortune with him into the depths of Baltimore harbor. The notes of Papa’s funeral dirge had scarce faded when creditors descended on their home like a pack of wolves to collect on his gambling debts. Though he had not been the most affectionate or attentive parent, Marianne had always believed he would care for his family. When he died, she lost more than a father, and more than their fortune, Marianne had lost her trust.

  Her trust in man and her trust in God.

  “Miss?” A gruff voice startled her, and she snapped her eyes open to see a tall man peering down at her. The same man who had helped her to her feet when she’d first come aboard—or rather fell aboard. Beneath his floppy hat, thick black hair whipped over his shoulders in the wind. “The captain inquires as to your health.” Her gaze shot unbidden to a patch of rippled skin that scarred the left side of his face. He seemed to notice the direction of her eyes and frowned. Shoving aside her ill ease at the deformity, Marianne smiled instead and met his eyes directly.